Safely in hyperspace, away from Taris, the new crew of the Ebon Hawk began to treat their wounds. Zaalbar had received some hits during the firefight which he'd ignored, and it took Bastila noting the smell of burnt fur before he admitted needing some medical attention. As the only person on board with any medical training at all, the Jedi found herself thrust into the role of medic. Fortunately, the Hawk had a very well-stocked medical bay.
Of all of them, Kohl had suffered the most damage, thought she seemed to not notice. She seemed in a daze; Bastila worked to treat her wounds, nervously watching the woman as she cleaned dust from the blaster holes and applied kolto packs. The older woman showed no reaction, ignoring the pain, staring into space in stoic silence. When she was done she sat up and gave the Jedi a respectful nod, which seemed to be as close to gratitude as she was capable of expressing. Then she retreated to the starboard bunks and slept for an entire day.
Privately, Carth wondered if seeing an entire world destroyed was beyond even the assassin's taste for violence. Canderous passed it off; Bastila seemed tired and drained. For the pilot, the scene of destruction harked far too much of Telos, and his dreams that night were the worst he'd experienced in nearly three years. Mission took it the worst; though Taris had been a terrible place for non-humans, and the Lower City had been a pit of violence, it had still been her home.
Carth had approached the dorm set aside for the women, and witnessed Mission sobbing while Kohl held and rocked her; the tenderness toward the youngster was so unlike the woman's natural state that he'd stood there, shocked, for nearly a minute. They hadn't noticed him, and he'd retreated back down the corridor, strangely embarrassed by what he'd seen.
It was a five-day trip to Dantooine, and there wasn't much to do while in hyperspace aside from think.
On the second day, as he sat in the cockpit, familiarizing himself with the Hawk's controls, there was a knock at the door. He turned to see Kohl there, looking at him. "Hey there, gorgeous."
Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie; she looked terrible. There were dark lines under her eyes, and her skin looked even paler than it normally did. Her hair, black as space, hung limply around her head. Lacking any other clothing on board, they all still wore the same clothes as before, simply relying on the sonic shower to clean them, but hers still smelled of scorched synthetic, with the blaster hole in the back.
It was dangerous to provoke her, perhaps even suicidal, but her quiet behaviour since their escape from Taris had made him feel like he needed to draw some kind of reaction from her. Besides – he was the pilot, she couldn't kill him. Not until they landed, anyway.
He was disappointed, his comment gaining little more than a slightly raised eyebrow. She stepped into the cockpit, her arms crossed. "I need to ask you something."
"Fire away." Not literally, I hope.
She quirked an eyebrow, as if thinking the same thing. "I want you to take care of Mission. And Zaalbar."
"What?" Carth turned in his seat, not sure he'd heard correctly.
She pursed her lips. "You heard me. If anything happens to me, I want you to take care of them."
He shook his head, not understanding. "Why wouldn't you take care of them yourself? We're away from Taris... and you barely know me."
"Call it one of my feelings. As far knowing you... I know that you're honourable. I know that you wouldn't abandon a child."
He flinched at that, remembering Telos, and Dustil. "You don't know that."
"I do." She stepped closer, clearly losing patience. "I just want to be sure that if something were to happen to be, she wouldn't be left alone. She's almost old enough to take care of herself, although she claims she'd been old enough for years now. Zaalbar looks out for her, but he's almost as bewildered by the galaxy as she is... as I am. I've never been off Taris, that I can remember."
"But-"
"I've killed a lot of people, Onasi, just in the past year that I can remember. And the galaxy has a way of settling debts. I want to be sure that Mission isn't left alone when my tab comes up. Is that simple enough?"
Carth blinked, surprised to hear something so Jedi-like from her. He answered honestly. "I would have looked after her, even if you hadn't asked."
She nodded. "Good."
"But it doesn't matter, 'cause nothing's going to happen."
Kohl shrugged, and then turned, leaving the cockpit. And Carth was left with that ominous conversation in his head.
Over the next two days, it became obvious that he wasn't the only one to notice her deteriorating condition. It was the unspoken subject, the bantha in the room; the adults would cast worried looks at each other, while Mission watched Kohl move with blatant concern. Yet none of them said anything to her.
She seemed tired, moving around the ship as if she'd aged fifty years. There was a thin film of sweat on her, despite the cool air of the ship, causing her hair to stick to her forehead. The rings under her eyes darkened, until she looked beaten, her eyes and pale skin making her look like a wraith.
Carth wondered if it was withdrawal; whatever substance she was addicted to, she certainly didn't have access to it during the flight. Hopefully she'd emerge from the experience drug-free, a better woman. And even as he said it to himself, it rang hollow.
They were a day and a half out from Dantooine, and Carth was fiddling with the Hawk's impressive navigational system, with Mission's voice rang through the ship. "Kohl!"
Carth spun, dashing through the ship toward the women's dorm, nearly colliding with Bastila as she emerged from the storage room. When they entered the room, they found Mission hovering helplessly over a fallen Kohl, who lay on the floor, thrashing.
"Mission, what happened?" Bastila asked as she moved to kneel by the convulsing woman, laying a hand on Kohl's shoulder.
"I don't know! We were going to play some Pazaak, and she was walking, and she just fell down..."
"Carth, help me..." the Jedi asked.
He obeyed, reaching under the woman, pulling her into his arms. He nearly dropped her as she shuddered in his grasp, but then she suddenly quieted, going still in his grip. She lay boneless, panting.
Lifting her, he shouldered his way past Canderous and Zaalbar, who looked on from the dorm entrance.
"What the hell happened?" demanded the Mandalorian.
"We don't know. Get out of the way, Canderous," replied the Jedi impatiently. He scowled but obeyed, following behind as Carth and Bastila carried the insensate woman to the medical bay.
He laid her out on the med-table, and Bastila dashed about, attaching sensors to the woman's wrist. Almost immediately, Kohl began shuddering again.
"What? She shouldn't be seizing again so quickly. What-"
"What's wrong?" Carth demanded.
"I don't know!" Bastila looked on, helpless. She turned and scrolled through the readouts accumulating on the medical display. "Something's interfering with her neuro-transmitters. Her synapses are going wild. What could..."
"Can you do anything about it?" Canderous demanded harshly. He'd entered the room, putting his hands on Kohl's legs, helping Carth keep her from rolling off the bio-bed in the midst of her seizures.
The current seizure stop; Kohl went quiet, with the same agonized panting as before. Bastila looked on helplessly. "I don't know... I don't know the cause!" She paused, worrying her lip as she thought. "I can try setting up a kolto infusion. If there's damage, it should help, but-"
"Don't bother," came Kohl's voice.
"Don't bother?" Carth demanded. "Kohl, what's wrong with you? This is way beyond withdrawal."
She didn't answer right away as she shuddered through another seizure, clenching her teeth in agony, the whip-like cords of her muscles standing out along her arms and neck.
"Kohl!" Bastila shook the other woman.
"J... J-Joxivar's Leash," Kohl panted, each word costing her.
Bastila went white, and Canderous snarled. Carth looked between them, confused. "What? What's that?"
"It's a poison, developed by the Hutts to keep control of particularly troublesome slaves," Canderous explained. "The slave needs regular doses of a counter-agent, or she dies... painfully. The antidote is extremely expensive, so it isn't used much. Apparently Davik found it worthwhile."
"I'm a high-maintenance woman," Kohl managed to laugh between breaths.
Carth stared at the assassin, shocked. "That's what you were taking that night."
"Of course, you idiot," she snarled. "How else do you think a man like Davik managed to keep a handle on someone like me? Flowers? I... Gah!" Another seizure tore through her like a blaster shot, and she arched up from the bio-bed. Carth tried to hold her down, but she was so Force-damned strong, it took him and the huge Mandalorian together to keep her from rolling off the bed.
"There's got to be something we can do!" Carth demanded, glaring at Bastila.
The Jedi wilted under his stare, almost seeming to be on the verge of tears. "I don't know! The Masters on Dantooine... they could probably heal her, purify the poison-"
"She'll be dead by then," Canderous growled.
Bastila looked at both of them, her mouth opening and closing, helpless.
"Carth-" He looked down, and saw Kohl looking up at him. Her voice was barely her own, weak, without any of the dangerous authority that normally filled it, even when she spoke softly.
He leaned down so that she wouldn't need to speak louder. "Yeah, I'm here, Kohl. What can I do? Tell me..."
She lifted her hand, brushing along his jacket, and for a moment he thought she was going to caress his cheek. Instead, it fisted into his collar, and the pilot found himself nearly dragged down onto the bed with her, staring into her grey eyes from centimetres away. Her face was twisted with defiant fury, and when she spoke, blood flecked the side of her mouth. "Remember your promise! Take care of her..." Her eyes rolled back, and she flopped back against the bed as another fit took her.
"Do something!" Carth snarled at Bastila. The Jedi looked nearly ready to panic, and Carth was reminded again just how incredibly, stupidly young she was... old enough to decide the fate of the galaxy, too young to decide the fate of one sinful woman.
He was losing hope, beginning to think that perhaps the most they could offer her was an overdose of painkillers – a quick, peaceful death, rather than hours of agony before the end. He looked up, prepared to argue the point with Canderous, who would certainly not be pleased. Instead, he saw an idea dawn on Bastila, who set her jaw and squared her shoulders.
"Stasis. I'll put her into stasis."
"The Hawk doesn't have the equipment-" Canderous began.
"Not with technology, with the Force!" Bastila snapped.
Carth nodded. "That's a good idea. Do it."
Bastila glared at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to do something stupid, like start arguing about who was giving orders again. "I've never done it for more than a few minutes at a time before! How far are we from Dantooine?"
"A day and a half." Kohl surged underneath his arms, and he put his weight down onto her legs, while Canderous held down her arms and torso. She managed a gurgling screech, and from behind him he could hear Mission sobbing in the hallway, Zaalbar hooting and growling as he attempted to comfort her. "What can we do to help?"
"You can shut up, and leave us alone once I get the field around her. I'm going to need every bit of my concentration to do this, and I'm not sure it'll be enough."
Carth nodded. Bastila reached out to take one of Kohl's hands, enfolding it in both of her own. She closed her eyes and began to focus. Carth thought he saw the air around her shimmer, though he knew it had to be his imagination.
"Damn it... Don't fight me, Kohl..." she muttered. After another few seconds, her eyes popped open, and she glared down at the other woman with frustrated impatience and desperation. "You stupid, selfish bantha! Must everything be a battle for you? For once in your life, let me help!" Kohl gave no sign of hearing the rebuke, lost as she was in a sea of pain. But Bastila closed her eyes again, and the frown on her face softened somewhat. Beneath his arms, Kohl's legs seemed to slow in their trembling; he watched with a mixture of hope and trepidation as the rise and fall of her chest slowed and then stopped.
He hesitated. Then, carefully, he lifted himself off the bed, stepping away. Across from him, Canderous did likewise.
"Bastila?"
"Get out. Get us to Dantooine."
They obeyed.
The last day of their trip was tense. Bastila couldn't sleep, couldn't eat... she barely had the concentration to spare to sip water brought to her by Mission. She'd asked that the others avoid the medical bay, as their rampant emotions disturbed her concentration. So they were left, spread around the ship, wondering what would happen.
Mission hid in the woman's dorm, worrying, occasionally emerging to check up on Zaalbar, who wandered around the ship with T3, fixing what he could of the damage taken when they'd escaped the Sith assault. Canderous idled in the garage, using the workbench there to clean and tweak his carbine, sometimes tinkering with the swoop bike kept there.
And Carth was left in the cockpit, trying to make the damned ship go faster. The Ebon Hawk was amazingly fast, perhaps one of the fastest ships he'd ever piloted. But there was very little he could tweak to eke more speed from her, so he mostly spent his time watching the hyperspace counter slowly count down. He slept in the pilot's seat, an old habit from his fighter-pilot days, when he couldn't risk stepping away from the controls.
When the hyperspace engines disengaged, and the bright green orb of Dantooine warped into sudden view outside the main windows, he was already bringing the engines to full thrust. He tilted the ship into a dangerously sharp descent through the atmosphere, the shields glowing a bright blue as they held back the flames of the meteorite-like drop.
Predictably, the Dantooine monitoring stations noticed their assault-like entrance, and the ship's radio lit up. "Unidentified ship... unidentified ship... this is Dantooine Air and Space Control... please respond!"
"Control, this is the transport ship Ebon Hawk, responding." Surprisingly easy, Carth thought, how old habits came back under times of stress.
"Roger, Ebon Hawk... please adjust your entry vector, you're coming in way too fast."
"Negative, Control. We have a medical emergency on-board. We are bound for the Jedi Enclave, authorized by the Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan."
There was a long pause, as Carth was sure comments and questions were being tossed around at Control. Finally, the voice came back, "Roger, Ebon Hawk. You are cleared to land. The Jedi will have medical staff waiting."
He nodded, satisfied, though he would have landed even if he wasn't cleared. He paused to relay Bastila's one other request. "Control, Padawan Shan also requests that Master Zhar be available to appraise the situation. She was very specific."
There was another, longer pause. Ahead of him, he the clouds parted, and he could see the Enclave as he dove. He pulled back on the stick, bringing the ship to more level flight, tilting the vessel toward the waiting landing pad. "Roger, Ebon Hawk. We'll make sure he's there."
He brought the Hawk in, throttling back, engaging the repulsors. The transport hummed under his hands, slowly lowering onto the landing pad, yet seemed ready to jump to maximum speed at any moment. The person who'd helped get him off Taris – Hell, just call her your teammate... – was dying in the back of the ship. Was it wrong that he enjoyed flying the Hawk so much?
The vessel had barely touched down before he'd flicked the switches, shutting down the engines and opening the loading ramp. He jumped out of his seat, dashing toward the back.
The Jedi hadn't been idle. By the time he reached the main area, there was already a train of sentients aboard. A Twi'lek with dark pink skin stood near the ramp, with a cadre of robe-wearing sentients behind him. He looked up as Carth entered, diverting his attention from the threatening-looking Mandalorian who stood by the centre console, his arms crossed.
"Commander Onasi, I believe?" he asked in Basic. Carth nodded. "I am Master Zhar. Where is the injured being?"
"In here, Master," came Bastila's exhausted voice from the medbay. Zhar turned, following her voice, and Carth followed. In the hallway, Zaalbar and Mission waited, carefully staying out of the way of the Jedi medical staff, and the pilot sent her a reassuring nod.
"Padawan?" Zhar asked, quizzical. "You requested me specifically?"
She looked up at him, her eyes sunken, unable to stand. "Yes, Master." She managed to gesture to the still form of Kohl on the bed, her stasis near to wearing off.
Zhar stepped closer, and his eyes widened as he looked at the unconscious human. "Yes," he said. There was an odd note to his voice which puzzled Carth. "I can see why you required me."
Two beings stood in front of a pair of stone doors. One was a tall, handsome human. He head was carefully shaved, and he was dressed in red robes, a lightsaber clipped to his belt. He watched his companion, a featureless being dressed in black robes, as he or she paced in front of the doors. Like the other, this being was also armed, though with a pair of lightsabers, rather than just the one.
"The Dark Side is strong in this place... I can feel its power!" He clenched his fists, bathing in the sensation. Then, catching himself, he lowered his hands, seemingly ashamed of himself.
He cast a worried glance at the doors. "Is this wise? The ancient Jedi sealed this archway. If we pass beyond this door, we can never go back. The Order will surely banish us."
The other being apparently thought so; wordlessly, a gloved hand waved over the door, and the locks parted of their own accord.
The man watched as a tunnel stretched before them. "Are the secrets of the Star Forge so valuable, can it's power truly be worth the risk?" Yet he followed his companion, walking into the darkness.
In front of them, like a sinister black flower, a trio of metal struts spread out on the floor. A globe set in the middle rose into the air, and began to glow...
The first indication that Kohl had that something was wrong was when she realized she was still breathing.
Every single one of her muscles hurt; it felt like she'd run from one end of Taris to the other while carrying Zaalbar on her back. Her throat was dry; she could feel an infuser on her arm, undoubtedly supplying moisture and nutrients to her system.
There was something laying on her stomach. With effort, she managed to peel open her eyes. Glancing down, she saw a Twi'lek head resting on her belly, a pair of blue lekku draped across her body and the bed. The slender appendages twitched as Mission dreamed. The girl sat in a chair beside the bed, but had obviously fallen asleep while waiting for her to wake.
She loves you, like the mother she can't remember, she thought. Then the other, colder voice that lived inside her spoke up. Her dependence is a weakness. She can't become strong while relying on you. She sighed, and lifted a hand to caress the top of the youngster's head.
"You're awake," came a voice. Looking up, she saw Bastila standing over her. The Jedi had changed into a fresh Jedi robe, and overall looked much tidier than she had during their time on Taris. Her eyes flickered down, automatically noting the new lightsaber clipped to the young woman's belt.
They were in what looked like a recovery room. Blandly decorated, it was really just an array of beds in a single room. The walls were made of stained wood, and the floors covered in a thin carpet, a pleasantly organic contrast to the metallic cots and the bio-monitors. A medical droid hovered in a low-power state in the corner.
They were not alone; as Kohl watched, a trio of older males stepped up behind Bastila – a tall Twi'lek with dark pink skin, a small green Whill, and an older human. The two aliens looked at her with a mixture of fascination and apprehension; the human glared down at her with blatant dislike. All were dressed in the robes of the Jedi.
"I'm surprised, too," Kohl finally replied. Her voice was raspy, and forming words was an effort. She looked at the array of eyes aimed at her. "Aren't I supposed to be dead?"
The statement produced an odd, uncomfortable silence amongst the gathered sentients, who glanced at each other. The Twi'lek stepped forward. "No, young one. You're quite safe here. The poisons have been purified from your body... you shan't die today."
She wasn't going to die. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.
"Now that you are awake, we'd like to discuss something with you."
"Wuh... Kohl?" Mission's head twitched, and the girl groggily lifted herself off the woman. She blinked sleepy eyes at her, and smiled. "You're awake."
Kohl reach down to give the girl's hand a squeeze. "Yeah, I am."
Bastila stepped around the bed, laying a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Come, Mission. Kohl and the Masters need to talk, and you need to give the others the good news."
"Talk?" Mission frowned. "But she just woke up?"
"What we need to discuss will affect her recovery, child," the Whill responded. "Go with Bastila... we won't needlessly exhaust your guardian, and this should not take very long."
Mission automatically scowled at being called child', but looked to Kohl, who nodded very slightly. Sighing, she allowed herself to be led from the room by Bastila.
And then Kohl was alone with the Jedi Masters. Looking up at them, she felt the stirrings of fear within her. She didn't like being afraid; it made her angry. Yet, somehow she knew that all the anger in the galaxy was not going to change what they were about to tell her.
The Whill was the first to speak. He looked at her intently, despite the fact that even standing, he was barely taller than her on the bed. "Tell us, Kohl... what do you know of Force bonds?"
Finis (of a sort...)